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NICK BABA’S LAST DRINK 


AND 


OTHER SKETCHES. 


GEO. P. GOFF. 

H 


Pro captu lecioris habent sua fata libelli. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


> ) 



LANCASTER, PENNA.: 

INQUIRER PRINTING AND PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1879.' 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, 

Geo. P. Goff, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 


In exch, 

D, of C. Pub. Lib, 


o <y 

CO'S 


<•^,0 


TO THE 


RAYMOND hall” SHOOTING CLUB, 


THIS 


VOLUME IS INSCRIBED. 


V ’4# 



PREFACE. 


The kind partialitv of indulgent friends having in- 
duced ME TO GATHER TOGETHER THESE SCATTERED FRAGMENTS, 
INDITED AS A RECREATION FOR MY LEISURE MOMENTS, I GIVE 
THEM THUS COLLECTED, WITH THE HOPE THAT THE SAME 
FAVOR WILL BE EXTENDED TO THEIR IMPERFECTIONS AS HAS 


SO OFTEN BEEN SHOWN TO THEIR AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

NICK BABA'S LAST DRINK, ii 

TRIP TO CURRITUCK— Illustrated, 25 

HAUNTED ISLAND, 51 


LEGEND OF BERKELEY SPRINGS— Illustrated, 


76 





Nick Baba’s Last Drink 


AND OTHER SKETCHES, 



NICK BABA’S LAST DRINK. 



T was Christmas Eve, and the one narrow main 
street of a small country town was ablaze. Ex- 
tra lights were glowing in all the little shops; yet all 
this illumination served only to make more . apparent 
the untidy condition of the six-by-nine window panes, 
as well as the goods therein. Men and women were 
hastening homeward with well-filled baskets which they 
had provided for the festive morrow. All the ragged, 
dirty urchins of the village were gathered about the 
dingy shop windows admiring, with distended eyes 
and gaping mouths, the several displays of toys and 
sweetmeats. 

Their arms buried quite to their elbows in capacious 
but empty pockets, they cast longing looks and won- 

(lO 



2 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


dered, as they had no stockings, where Santa Claus could 
put their presents when he had brought them. To all 
this show and preparation there was one exception: one 
place shrouded in total darkness — it was the shop of 
Nick Baba, the village shoemaker. That was for the 
time deserted ; left to its dust, its collection of worn- 
out soles, its curtains of cobwebs, and its compound of 
bad, unwholesome odors. This darkness and neglect 
was about to end, however, and give place to a glimmer 
of light. 

Nick now came hurrying in and, quickly striking a 
light, placed between himself and a flickering oil lamp a 
small glass globe filled with water. He sat down upon his 
bench and commenced work in earnest on an unfinished 
pair of shoes. He hammered, and pulled, and stretched, 
and pegged, and sewed, and all this time, had there been 
any one present, they might have observed that, though 
Nick worked so diligently, he was unhappy, and a prey to 
the bitterest reflections. All in the village had com- 
menced their merry-making, while he sat there alone, for- 
gotten, and in despair. His neighbors had plenty — he 
was penniless, and could take nothing to his home but 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


13 


regrets for the past. The rickety old door now creaked 
on its rusty, worn-out hinges, and admitted a creature as 
strange looking as it was unexpected. It moved straight 
toward Nick, and perched itself upon a three-legged 
stool close beside him. This mysterious thing could not 
be pronounced supernatural, and yet it was as unlike 
anything human as is possible to imagine. It was more 
like some fantastic figure seen in a dream — the creation 
of a disordered brain. It may be that it was a goblin — 
Nick thought it one. It was only about two feet high ; 
a mass of dark-brown hair streamed down its back, par- 
tially concealing a great hump, and thence flowed down 
to its heels. Its head was round as a ball and topped out 
by a velvet cap of curious shape and workmanship, with 
a broad projecting front which shaded a pair of lustrous 
red eyes, set far back beneath the forehead — almost lost 
there. Its breast was. sunken, and the head settled down 
between the shoulders, created an impression of weak- 
ness, as if, for example, it should speak, that a small pip- 
ing voice would come struggling up from below. Baba 
looked up with alarm, but the goblin greeted him with a 
smile, and said, “Merry Christmas, Nick,” in a deep. 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


U 

strong and not unmusical voice, which came boldly up 
and out from its parted lips. 

“ How do you know my name ?” inquired the cobbler, 
“and why do you mock me by such a greeting?” 

“Baba, my friend,” replied th^ Goblin, “I was just 
thinking that if all the acts of your life had been as 
good and as humane as your mechanical skill is per- 
fect, you would not now be floundering in the meshes 
of vice and dissipation. You are making a good 
pair of shoes there.” 

The shoemaker worked away without raising his head, 
but responded spitefully, “Where is the use of making 
them good ? — I get no pay for them.” 

“Why, who,” inquired the occupant of the three-legged 
stool, “ is so ungenerous as to want such shoes without 
paying for them?” 

“ They are,” answered the busy workman, “ for the 
owner of this miserable shanty, and he complains be- 
cause I am only six months behind with my rent — a 
most unreasonable man. If he does not get his shoes 
to-morrow, he will turn me out; I must have some 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


5 


place to work, and so am forced to do the bidding 
of this grasping landlord.” 

“Ah, it is you who are unreasoning,” exclaimed Baba’s 
visitor, sorrowfully; “ it is you who are in fault. If you 
would but remain away from the tavern and the vile 
associates whom you meet there, all would be well 
with you, you might redeem yourself” 

Nick felt this rebuke so very keenly that he turned 
savagely toward the one who had dared to tell him so 
plainly of his degradation, and demanded, “Who are 
you, and why have you disturbed the quiet of this 
mean hovel to insult me in my misery?” 

“Because I wish to serve you,” answered it of the 
waving brown hair. 

“ You cannot serve me. I will drive you out,” 
threatened the now. infuriated cobbler ; “ I will throw 
you from the window — I will kill you.” 

The red eyes of the Goblin danced and twinkled in 
their caverns; a merry, careless laugh came bubbling 
forth as it answered, “ I will not leave your shop, nor 
will you throw me from the window, nor yet kill me, 
Nick Baba. Why, you silly fellow, the sharpest tool 


i6 


NICK BABA S LAST DRINK. 


on your bench cannot draw blood from me, and that 
blackened lapstone, if driven with all the force of your 
great arm through my seeming substance, would leave 
me sitting here still, not to mock, but to try and save 
you.” 

The baffled and stricken shoemaker looked up and 
muttered, “Then you are not human, you are a demon. 
But, after all,” added Nick, softening, “ whether you are 
of this world or of some other, you are right in what 
you say.” 

The Goblin made no reply, and Nick continued, “ I 
have sunk very low, indeed, but I cannot shake this 
habit ; it clings to me so firmly, that I have not only 
forfeited the regard of my neighbors and friends, but I 
even loathe myself.” 

“Why not make an effort, Nick? You can if you 
will.” 

“Yes, yes,” responded Nick, “it is easy enough to 
say give it up, but you have never Ht this accursed 
appetite for strong drink; this constant craving for 
more; this inward sinking sensation, as if the parts 
of the body were about to separate, impelling the victim 


NICK baba's last DRINK. 


17 


on in a career of sin and shame. You know nothing of 
all this.” 

“ No, I confess I do not,” acknowledged the Goblin, 
“ but I think any man may resist it, if he will make the 
trial.” 

"‘Ah, you might as soon expect,” pursued Nick, “ to 
see the starving man cast bread from him, as to hope 
for the drunkard to resist liquor when the frenzy of this 
appetite is on him.” 

“ But you have not tried, Nick.” 

“ Yes, I have tried and failed, and tried again and then 
failed.” 

“ Keep on trying,” said velvet cap. 

“A glass of liquor,” resumed Baba, “is a trifling thing, 
and it is very easy, you think, to cast it into the gutter. 
But I tell you, whoever and whatever you are, that this 
sparkling and seductive drink is the pygmy that binds 
the giant to the post with a thread, and lashes him with 
thongs of fire.” 

“ Try again,” urged the Goblin, “ I am sure you can 
regain all that you have lost.” 


8 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


“ No, no,” moaned Nick, I am too low down ; I am 
an absolute slave to rum.” 

Baba,” commanded the Goblin, take up the shoe 
you have nearly finished, look into the sole and tell me 
what you see there. It is a mirror of the past.” 

Nick took the shoe from the floor and gazed at it 
intently for a few seconds. He was agitated, and his 
powerful breast heaved as only a strong man may be 
moved — he wept. 

“What do you see? Speak!” said his tormentor. 

“ I see,” responded Nick, mechanically, “ a scene of 
seven years ago. It is the image of a fair-haired, blue- 
eyed girl before the altar in her wedding garments. 
I am there also, vowing to protect her; to stand up 
and battle with the world for her; to be a barrier be- 
tween her and want. But I have not done it — I have 
been recreant to every principle of honor or manhood. 
God help me.” 

“Now, Nick,” said the conjuror, persuasively, “ pick up 
the other shoe and tell me what you see there. That is 
a mirror of the present.” 

“ I see,” groaned Nick, “ in place of that fair-haired 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


19 


girl at the church, then all happiness, a prematurely old 
woman, faded and disheartened. Three ragged children 
cling to her scanty clothing. They beg of her mere 
bread to keep off hunger. She has none to give them — 
she draws them closer to her, and folding them in her 
emaciated arms, kisses them. She gives them all she 
has — a mother’s love.” 

“What more do you see,” demanded the magician: 
“ tell it all.” 

“Oh! maddening sight,” sobbed Nick; “I see myself 
staggering from the ale-house and reeling into what 
should be a home, where gaunt starvation stalks the 
floor ; where the hearth is fireless, and where a starving 
family die upon a pallet of straw.” 

“ You have seen it all,” said the wizard. “ It is bad.” 

“ Yes, and the picture is as true as it is terrible. What 
demon prompted you to come here to-night, with your 
diabolical machinery, to show me to myself so much 
blacker than I thought I was ?” 

Nick’s queer little companion peered through the 
misty, uncertain light of the cobbler’s workshop with his 
sharp restless red eyes, but remained quiet. 


20 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


Nick, his head in a whirl of excitement, then placed his 
face in his open palms, and resting his elbows upon his 
knees, looked down at the floor covered with scraps of 
soiled leather. Soon these scraps commenced to move 
and assume weird shapes. They changed to hundreds 
of little red, blue and green devils, no more than a few 
inches high, which capered over the floor in troops. They 
ran up Nick’s back, and hiding in the mass of black 
hair, twisted and knotted it until their victim winced, 
and then with hilarious shouts dropped to the floor and 
went clattering away. Returning, they played hide and 
seek in and out of the old worn boots and shoes which 
littered the floor. Then the tub wherein the shoemaker 
wet his leather, burst its hoops and the water ran out 
over the floor in streams of fire. The light was out 
and darkness enveloped Nick and .his companion. The 
wind went howling by, and flung gusts of hail against 
the cracked and broken windows. Baba, shivering 
from the cold, straightened himself up and looked for 
his patron. 

He could not see him, but he did perceive two balls 
of fire close to him — the red eyes were still upon him. 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


21 


Nick was thankful even for this, as any companion- 
ship at that moment was better than none. The silence 
was at length broken by the Goblin remarking, “ You 
must have passed a fearful ordeal during the last few 
moments.” 

“Has the time been so short?” inquired Nick; “it 
seemed almost an age to me. This is not the first occa- 
sion, however, that I have passed through it, and I fear 
the time may come when nature W'ill break down, and 
then I shall either do myself an injury or harm some 
one else — I know it.” 

“ I hope not,” said the wizard. “ Good-bye, I must go.” 

“ Do not leave,” implored the half-frightened Baba, 
“but remain with me until I have quite finished my 
work. I believe I am growing to be a coward, for I dare 
not be alone to-night. You are such an odd-looking 
manikin,” continued Nick, “and have spoken so fear- 
lessly to me, that I am beginning to like you. Do stay.” 

“ Well,” consented the Goblin, “ I will remain as long 
as you wish ; my time is of no value ; beside, if I can 
persuade you to reform and be a sober man, it will be 
worth an eternity of waiting.” 


22 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


Nick said, “ Thank you, I will try,” and went on with 
his work. 

Neither spoke for some time, when Baba suddenly 
exclaimed, “ There, they are finished at last, and are as 
good a pair of shoes as man ever trod in. I suppose 
now that I may occupy this den for a while longer.” 

“ Baba, my good man,” solicited Nick’s friend, ” as we 
are about to part, will you give me your promise never 
to drink rum again? You will then be happy, I am 
sure.” 

Hesitatingly the cobbler agreed that he would not 
taste the accursed stuff again ; but made it a condition 
that his new-found friend should accompany him as far 
as where he lived in such wretchedness. 

” I have no objection,” replied the Goblin, “ if you will 
not walk too fast, for I cannot keep pace with you.” 

“ Why, I will carry you,” said the grateful Nick, and 
seizing the little conjuror in his arms, walked off with 
him easily. 

When they had proceeded about half the length of 
the street, at the other end of which Nick lived, they 
came to the village dram-shop. Forgetting all that had 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


23 


passed, the willing shoemaker stopped and listened. He 
could hear the clinking sound of glasses ringing on the 
night air, mingled with the maudlin shouts and songs of 
his boon companions. The old feeling returned; he 
grew weak in his resolution, and, turning to the Goblin, 
said, Just come in and have one drink with me — the 
last one.” Immediately the imprudent Nick was thrown 
violently to the ground, the houses trembled, and their 
shutters rattled from their fastenings. The whole town 
seemed falling into ruins. Nick was startled into wake- 
fulness, and a sweet, cheery voice called, Nick, Nick, 
are you going to lie in bed all day? It is a bright 
Christmas morning and the children are half frantic to 
show you the presents Santa Claus has brought them.” 

” My dear, are you sure I am Nick Baba, the village 
shoemaker, and that you are his wife ?” 

“Certainly. Why ask such a question ?” 

“Then I have had a frightfully vivid dream,” ex- 
plained he to his wife, “ for I seemed to have fallen back 
into my old habits of intemperance and to have dragged 
you down with me, where I had hoped never to see you 
again.” 


24 


NICK baba’s last DRINK. 


“ Nick, dear, it was but a dream. Remember you 
took your last drink just three years ago; do you feel 
strong enough yet to resist it ?” 

“Yes, I do; and now that I am sure it was only the 
nightmare, I will hasten and join you and the children 
at breakfast.” 




A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 



N a Monday, in the month of 
f) November, we started on our 
y annual trip to the marshes of 
North Carolina. We left Wash' 
ington armed and equipped, and 
met, at Norfolk, four of our party 
who had left New York the 
previous week. They had 
been spending a few days 
in Princess Anne County, 
quail shooting, where they had labored hard with no 
success to speak of — the birds were few, the ground 
heavy, and they quit that locality, perfectly willing never 
to return to it. They arrived in Norfolk heartily sick of 
that excursion. We got the traps all together and made 

^ (25) 


26 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


a start for our favorite sporting grounds ; where the 
merest tyro may do satisfactory execution, and come in 
at night with a keen appetite for the next day’s sport. 

While waiting for the quail party to return, we strolled 
through the old city of Norfolk, with its quaint houses 
and curiously-winding streets, and wandered into the 
old-time burial place surrounding St. Paul’s church. 


This is one of the old- 
est places of worship 
in the United States; it 
was erected before the 
Revolution, and is built 
of imported brick, laid 
alternately, red and 



ST. PAUL’S CHURCH, 1 739. 


black. The figures, giving the date of erection, 1739, 
are rudely worked into the wall — projecting far enough 
to make the design perfectly plain. When the town 
was burnt by the British, 1775, only the walls of this 
sacred edifice were left standing. The enemy relieved 
it of a very fine marble baptismal font, and also of the 
communion plate, which were carried to Scotland. On 
the gable end of the building, still fast in the wall, may 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


27 


be seen a cannon ball which was fired from the British 
ship, Liverpool. The church stands in the customary 
grave yard of those days, and contains the remains of 
persons interred as early as 1700. Near the door 
stands the tomb-stone of Col. Samuel Boush, who gave 
the land on which this house of worship stands. Many 
of his relatives also rest there. Some of the stones, 
marking places of interment, are covered with mosses 
and creeping plants ; the inscriptions on others are al- 
most obliterated by the ravages of time ; still others have 
fallen or been broken, and now lean in every direction 
over the last earthly resting-place of those who thought 
to tell coming generations who reposed beneath. This 
is one of the weaknesses of man-kind, but it is vain. 

Let them pile up costly and lofty monuments — reach- 
ing heavenward; let the artist cut their names and vir- 
tues deep into the enduring granite ; let the mechanic, 
with all his skill, set the foundations, yet the lettering 
will perish and the stone will crumble. Parasitic plants 
will fasten upon them ; beneath their destroying grasp 
names and dates will disappear, and generations yet to 
come will be unable to tell whether they look upon the 


28 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


grave of a prince or upon that of a peddler — the narrow 
house of him who retired to the straw pallet of poverty, 
will not then be known from that of him who re- 
clined upon the silken couch of affluence — 

'• Death levels all ranks, 

And lays the shepherd’s crook beside the sceptre.” 



ST. PAUL’S CHURCH, 1 878. 

“On it, time his mark has hung ; 

On it, hostile bells have rung ; 

On it, green old moss has clung ; 
On it, winds their dirge have sung ; 
Let us still adore thy walls. 

Sacred temple, Old St. Paul’s.” 



A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


29 


Our party assemble, and we find the little steamer 
Cygnet at her wharf, looking as neat and trim as the 
graceful bird after which she is named. Newly painted, 
she was about to start on the first trip of the season. 

Half-past six was the hour of departure, but a heavy 
wet fog hung over this city by the sea, and we were 
obliged to await its disappearance. At length the sun 
struggled through the clouds, and the mist cleared 
rapidly away. We hauled out and steamed slowly up 
the Elizabeth River, then past the Navy Yard, with its 
tall smoking chimneys, its long rows of yellow build- 
ings, its leaning derricks, its neat and trim little square, 
domineered over by a lordly flag- staff, whose base is 
guarded by cannon captured from the enemies of the 
Republic, and its dismantled ships — relics of past naval 
architecture. As we pass, the shrill cry of the boat- 
swain’s whistle is heard on ship-board, piping all hands 
to breakfast, mingled with the music of the busy clink- 
ing hammers forging chains and anchors. A few miles 
above this naval station human habitations cease, 
scarcely a living thing greets the eye — we are in almost 
entire solitude. 


30 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


The eagle is seen grandly floating on the air, or 
poised ready to strike a defenceless animal or crippled 
bird. The buzzard, of loathsome aspect, perched upon 
a blasted tree, waits for his gorged appetite to sharpen, 
that he may descend and fatten upon some putrid car- 
case. The river, narrow and tortuous, rolls its black 
waters between low and marshy banks, flat, and running 
back to thin growths of stunted pines and other badly 
nourished trees. As we go on, the senses are now and 
then refreshed by the sight of a clump of pines, which 
have persisted in growing tall and straight, with tufts of 
bright green foliage waving gracefully in the wind. ' For 
many miles this is about the description of country we 
pass through. 

At Great Bridge we enter the locks of the Chesapeake 
and Albemarle Canal. A battle was fought here in 
1775 and the British defeated. Here are the Company’s 
houses, well constructed and neatly painted — a credit to 
the corporation as well as to the guiding spirit. The 
substantial locks and well kept dwellings and offices, 
like the gilded signs over the doors of the haunts o 
vice, are pleasant to look upon, but they do not tell of 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


31 


that which is within. If the passage up the river is 
dismal, w'hat shall we say of the journey through this 
canal. It is a dreary sameness cut right through a great 
swamp, merely wide enough to admit the passage of 
two vessels, with only a dull damp settlement here and 
there — a country store and the 
inevitable porch, with its squad of 
frowsy, unkempt idlers. 

The country store and post- 
office is the same everywhere : it 
belongs to every clime and na- 
tionality — it is a human device 
and speaks an universal language. 
It is generally overflowing with 
all sorts of commodities, from a hand-saw to a tooth- 
pick — is well stocked with calico and molasses, rum and 
candles, straw hats and sugar, bacon and coal oil, and 
gun-powder and beeswax. It is the rallying point for 
all the mischief-making gossips to collect, for the settle- 
ment of the affairs of the nation, and, failing in that, to 
set the neighbors by the ears. 

Leaving the canal, we go out into another river : a 
bright spot breaks upon us— a lumber station with new, 



32 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


fresh-looking piles of sawed lumber. The banks of this 
stream are just as low, marshy and uninteresting as the 
one we have passed through, and more crooked. There 
are perhaps a few more trees — some oaks, and we ob- 
served a tree with its crimson and yellow autumn 
foliage, backed by a clump of pines, looking beautiful 
against the dark green, like sunlight illumining a 
gloomy spot. 

After winding through the channel for a few hours, we 
enter Currituck Sound. This shallow sea takes its name 
from a tribe of Indians which once owned the adjacent 
lands. It is quite a large sheet of water, though not 
deep, about fifty miles long, and nearly ten at the widest 
part. It is dotted with small, low, sedgy islands, marshes 
and swamps. After enduring the approaches to it, quite 
an enlivening scene is presented. Persons are seen on 
the shore of the mainland, and boats are moving about in 
various directions. Huge groaning windmills, with tat- 
tered sails, guard the shore and torture the Indian corn 
into bread-stuff. Now for the first time the traveler 
begins to realize what it is to see wild fowl. The water 
seems black with ducks and geese, and dazzling white 
with the graceful swans. The latter sit in great flocks 


A TRIP T®> CURRITUCK. 


33 


on the shoals, fer miles in length. As the steamer ap- 
proaches, they arise in such vast numbers as to nearly 
blacken the heavens, with a rushing sound like the 
coming tornado. Arriving as near our destination as 
the vessel can take us, we disembark, landing on a strong 
platform built far out from the shore. For a half hour 
we are busy getting our traps from the boat — guns, dogs, 
ammunition, boxes, bags, bales, bundles, baskets and 
barrels. We had left nothing unpurchased which could 
contribute to the comfort of the inner or outer man — 
especially the former. Now we transfer everything to a 
small boat, sent from the beach miles away, to meet and 
convey us to our journey’s end — our home for a few 
weeks, where we must conform to the customs of the 
natives as near as possible. We do not reach the Hall 
until the twilight has faded into darkness. The water is 
too shallow to allow even this small craft to approach 
the shore near enough to enable us to land, so carts are 
driven out to it, and the baggage and provisions piled 
therein. The teams being loaded, us city folks, with 
store clothes on, are carried ashore on the backs of our 
amiable and hospitable friends. They have a contempt 


34 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


for dry places, water being their ele- 
ment. Proceeding to the house, we 
are welcomed in the warmest possible 
manner by our host and his ever busy 
and pleasant daughter Nora. We are 
installed as a part of the family, for 
we have been there before — we are not 
strangers. Nora and her sable assist- 
GoiNG ASHORE. ants had prepared an abundant and 
inviting meal for us, and we enjoyed it with an appetite 
quickened by the sail across the Sound. 

After supper we made our arrangements for the first 
day’s shooting, and then retired — sinking into beds so 
downy as to induce sleep in a few moments — and we do 
sleep just as soundly 
as if we had always 
been wise and good 
and happy. The club 
house, “ Raymond 
Hall,” is an ordinary 
frame one, situated on Raymond hall. 

the shore of the Sound, a few rods from the sea. It is 




A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


35 


surrounded by a tolerable growth of persimmon and 
other tre6s ; it stands alone, and at night is as silent as 
the halls of death — not a sound being heard except the 
bark of the watchful house-dogs. The wind murmurs 
about the angles of the house, and through the branches 
of the trees, in dreary harmony with the roar of the 
ocean. It is somewhat startling, for a few nights, to 
us denizens of cities, to notice the entire absence of all 
precautions against depredators — there are neither locks 
nor bolts. Life is primitive here ; all honor the head of 
the family, and bow to his will. The people, young and 
old, are universally kind and respect- 
ful to those strangers who sojourn 
among them, meeting them in a spirit 
of frankness and exacting the same. 
We shoot whenever the weather is 

“PHELY.” 

suitable, and amuse ourselves at other 
times in various ways — repairing boats, rigging decoys, 
cleaning guns, loading shell, and making ready for a good 
day when it does come. We breakfast between eight 
and nine o’clock, then, donning our shooting attire, in- 
cluding rubber boots, which are indispensable, we go to 



36 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


the landing. Wading out to our boats, laden with all 
the implements of destruction, we depart for the day’s 
sport. A small fleet of five sail starts in a bunch like a 
flock of white-winged birds ; the swiftest of them shoot 
ahead, fading out in the distance ; others disappear be- 
hind the islands or into some of the numerous creeks, 
and for that day we are lost to each other. 

We meet again at night, however, and compare notes. 
The number of birds each has secured, the good and 
bad shots, with other events of the day, are all pleas- 
ant topics at supper. After the evening meal, we plan 
the next day’s business, and then, wearied, we seek our 
feather beds and sleep too soundly even to dream. So 
we pass the days in a sort of luxurious vagabondism. 
How very pleasant it is to be a vagabond, when one 
may return to starched linen and the trammels of civil- 
ization whenever one wishes ! 

Our club was composed of six persons: Mondray H. 
Charles, Rory Theodoric, Jas. O’Kelly, Geo. H. Crege, 
H. H. Josephus and Geo. G. Paullo. Two servants ac- 
companied the party — Steve and Jacob. Steve is a rat- 
tling, roaring fellow, who had never before been without 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


37 


the sound of the breakers of his native Long Island, 
and was ready to perform any act for his friends, from 
pitch-and-toss to manslaughter. Jacob, 
the companion of Steve, is the very 
opposite in all things; is a genteel fel- 
low, wears a clerical necktie of immac- 
ulate whiteness, and has the appear- 
ance of having studied for the ministry, 
and graduated as a cook. His table is 
a marvel of neatness, and his culinary 
experience has enabled him to set 
many a tempting dish before us. 

During our stay on the beach many amusing incidents 
occurred ; we will try and give some of them as they 
return to our memory. It may not be uninteresting to 
know how and where we shoot, and so we give some- 
thing of a description. We draw lots for the choice; 
each selects the point, or island, or strait, which, in 
his judgment will afford the best shooting for the 
day, and there builds a blind. This blind is made by 
breaking down the tall reeds, leaving a fence in front, 
next the water, to secrete the gunner from the game. 



A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


38 

Behind this screen a sort of nest is formed by matting 
down the reeds and marsh grass. It is rendered more 

comfortable by 
spreading a rubber 
blanket, upon which 
are arranged for 
use, guns, ammu- 
nition, lunch and a 
BUND. bottle — of water. 

The decoys are placed out in long range, in such a 
manner as to make them appear as natural looking as 
possible, and then we are ready for business. Now here 
they come — a flock of seven geese, plump down among 
the stool, but get up again with equal haste. Two of 
them are knocked down with the breech-loader, one 
dead, the other only wounded — a third stopped by the 
muzzle-loader. Theodoric was dreamily watching his 
decoys as they danced about, when a bunch of sprig-tail 
swooped down, hovering above the stool. He picked his 
bird, and dropped two with the first barrel, and another 
responded to the discharge of the second. They came 
tumbling down into the water — dead. One could not 



A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


39 


easily imagine a duck’s head capable of expression, but 
when they come lively, alight among the dummies, and 
hear no quack of recognition, they soon discover the 
fraud, and the frightened haste with which they gather 
themselves up and attempt to make off, is expression all 

over. Crege, who is 
one of the best ama- 
teur shots on Long 
Island, as a medal 
now in his possession 
will attest, had taken 
his number twelve, 
and walked the 
marshes for snipe. So far as the ducks were concerned, 
he had missed the sport, but he brought in a bunch of 
forty-five English snipe, which compared favorably with 
the success of the others. Crege is a superior marksman, 
but he shoots much better when the boys gather about 
the table at the club on a winter evening, where they talk 
their shots over again, and trot their horses at impossi- 
ble speed. O’Kelly is one of the constitutionally chosen 
Senators for the great State of New York, is a prime 



40 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


shot, an enthusiastic sportsman, and one of the most 
genial of our friends. He had located on a distant 
island, and expended powder and shot with his usual 
prowess — returning laden with game. This was de- 
cidedly the best day we had had, and the score was as 
follows : Charles, nineteen canvas-back, eleven teal, three 
geese and twelve red -head, mallard and black duck; 
Theodoric brought in sixty-five birds — canvas-back, red- 
head, sprig-tail and black-head; O’Kelly, who had had 
surprising luck, counted fifty canvas -back, and twenty- 
five common ducks. It was a good count, and the game 
was hung up in the boat house with the other birds. 


Many of the natives are 
professional gunners, and 
haunt the marshes day and 
night, shooting for market, 
and thus making a living. 
If one cannot shoot, one 
may resort to these people 
and purchase a boat load. 



FIVE AT A SHOT. 


It is, however, a reprehensible practice. 

There is no tide in the Sound except that which is 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


41 


caused by the wind, and as high water and a stiff 
breeze are essential to good sport, it is not possible to 
have good shooting every day. When the wind comes 
from the right quarter it makes a full tide, and drives 
the fowl nearer the shore and up into the creeks where 
they may feed. 

It was getting toward the end of our sojourn ; we had 
experienced several quiet balmy days — no wind, low 
water, general listlessness. “ Should we have any more 
fun?” we asked, and went to bed. About midnight 
the wind came howling through the trees, the weather 
became cold, and the rattling windows responded to 
the hope of a good day to-morrow. Getting our break- 
fast early, we selected our points and hastened to the 
boats. Dark clouds, flying over a dull wintry sky, de- 
noted a steady blow — it was cheering. The blinds were 
quickly reached, and decoys thrown out. Only a few 
birds were flying, the fitful wind becoming higher and 
higher and then dying out entirely. The clouds, how- 
ever, soon drifted away, the sun appeared as bright and 
beautiful as summer — almost persuading us to take off 
our coats. Disheartened at the coquettish nature of the 


42 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


weather, we gave it up. Not a bird to be seen — we 
took our bottles, and throwing our heads back on our 
shoulders, tried to look through the bottoms of them 
— they in turn gave out a gurgling sound of com- 
plaining emptiness. We fell into are freshing sleep ; 
the hours passed away unheeded, until we were 
awakened by the rustling of the reeds bending in the 
breeze, whispering of the coveted blow. Heavy black 
clouds were . gathering, and soon old Boreas came 
cracking out from the right point of the compass. 

This aroused the ducks in the open water to flight, 
and they came in, seeking the shelter of the shore 
— a fatal protection. Charles, the original explorer of 
the Sound as a sporting place, and founder of the 
“ Raymond Hall ” Club, did some good work — tak- 
ing them, right and left, with each barrel, and drop- 
ping single blue-winged teal with unerring aim. 

Theodoric is the most amiable, patient friend imagin- 
able ; can conduct a bank equal to any man in New 
York; and we all esteem him very much. He labors 
under the mild hallucination, however, that he must 
be constantly doing something, and nearly all this is 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


43 


expended in cleaning his gun. Morning and even- 
ing it undergoes this polishing process, and on Sun- 
day he rests himself by giving it another wipe. 

“ It’s a little leaded, you know, George,” he re- 
marks, and at it he goes. Human nature may stand 
this, but guns wont. 

On one occasion when he tried to jam a cleaning 
rod through it, larger than the bore, it refused to go. 

“You won’t, won’t you,” said he, as he raised it 
aloft and brought it down with all his might on the 



“I KNEW IT WOULD COME OUT.^’ 


floor. It went in; but the gun bulged just as any 
good gun will do, and the eruption yet stands on 
the barrel, a monument of his determination. 



44 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


Steve was called in, and a pulling match ensued. 
Steve had hold of the gun and Thee firmly clenched 
the rod. The gun could stand the combined strength 
of two powerful men no better than it could resist 
the jamming of the rod, and they parted. Steve went 
backwards over Mary Rogers, a dog, and took a 
moist seat in a tub of warm water, which had been 
prepared for cleaning guns. Steve said the water was 
hot, while our fastidious friend looked bland, gath- 
ered himself up from out a pile of empty shells, 
mixed with scraps of red flannel and oil-rags, and 
said “ I knew it would come out.” 

Josephus, the great Canarsie fisherman, is not an 
enthusiast about gunning, and left his sporting traps 
at home. He only went down for a few days’ fish- 
ing, and was prepared to take large numbers of blue- 
fish. Armed with a stout line and squid, he invited 
us over to see him do it. The ocean was rough, and 
came rolling up in long heavy swells ; the fish were 
far out at sea. After getting his line arranged to his 
satisfaction, he took firm hold of it a few feet above 
the squid; we all loolced admiringly on. By a series 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


45 


of dexterous gyrations about his head he sent it fly- 
ing a hundred feet out into the water — it was beauti- 
fully done. Skillfully he hauled it in, hand over hand 
The squid followed, as bright and shining as when he 
had cast it out, but no fish. He made ready again, and 
with that nonchalant air of a man who feels perfectly 
sure that he can do just what he wants to, he gave it 
that preparatory whirling motion again, and away it went. 
The best efforts will fail sometimes, and the most skill- 
^ fill are often doomed to disappoint- 

ment — it was so in this case. The 
hook did not go for a blue fish, but 
fastened itself in the leg of a too con- 
fiding dog that stood looking curi- 
A QUEER FISH. ously on, just as those canine friends 
of man so often do. The misguided animal went howling 
away, and had to be captured and the hook extracted. 

He felt sure he could do it, however, and he tried it 
again, with as much preparation as before, and twice the 
determination; he missed the sea altogether, and the 
barbed instrument buried itself into that portion of male 
wearing apparel that comes in contact with the chair. 



46 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


when one indulges in that agreeable and refreshing 
posture of sitting down : they will need repairing. 

Paullo is a good shot — with a knife and fork — and can 
look on at others who are doing hard work, with more 
nerve and complacency than any man who visits the 
Sound. He had been persuaded to go to a certain pond 
where ducks were abundant and easy to shoot. This 
was good ; he put his decoys out and waited. A bird 
was coming down — it went among the stool. It was a 
beautiful specimen of the feathered tribe, with a bill like 
a crow. In some places it is known as a crow duck, but 
the proper local name here is “ blue-peter.” Blue-peter 
seemed to have no fear, but sported around and among 
the dummies, and tossed the bright drops of water from 

its shining plumage. With 
the true feelings of a sports- 
man, Paullo wanted the bird 
to have a fair chance, and 
so tossed bunches of marsh 
BATTLE WITH BLUE-PETER. grass at it — it would not fly. 

Picking up his gun he fired, wounding several decoys. 

The battle raged all that day and the next, blue-peter 



A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


47 


diving at the flash of the gun, and defiantly coming up 
and waiting for it to be reloaded. 

On the morning of the third day, our Nimrod was 
late. When he arrived, the duck was there patiently 
waiting to renew the fight, and was busily engaged pick- 
ing the shot from the bottom of the pond, tossing it up 
and catching it in its bill as it came down. With such 
a gunner and such game, this 
might last a week. Strategy was 
resorted to, and when blue-peter 
mjl went under at the flash, our 

_ hero waded out and struck it 

5:1^— with a club as it came to the 
STRUCK IT WITH A CLUB, surface. The victory was not to 
the duck. Late that evening Steve and Jacob were seen 





carrying from the landing 
to the house the dead B. P., 
strung by the neck to the 
centre of a ten-foot pole, 
one pall-bearer at each end, 
and the conqueror leading the conqueror. 

the procession. On his arrival he was greeted by his fel- 



48 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


low members with that distinguished consideration which 
our people so freely accord to actors of great deeds. 

We remained on the beach four weeks, and had many 
pleasant days. We have now returned to our respective 
homes, wearied in body but refreshed in mind, well 
pleased with our trip, with each other, and with a de- 
cided inclination for a repetition of the jaunt. 

We cannot leave the subject without paying tribute to 
our friend and companion, Joe Creed. Joe is a large 
resolute dog of an amiable disposition, a dirty yellow 
coat, and a small bright eye of the same color. He has * 
a keen sense of duty, but never leaves the blind until he 
sees the game falling, when he proceeds to bring it in. 
He was undoubtedly born for it. If two birds fall, with 

almost human intelligence 
he gets both. Taking the 
farthest first, stopping on 
his way in to pick up the 
other, he comes in with 
one swinging on each side 
of his great shaggy head. 
They tell of him that he has been caught stealing sheep. 



JOE CREED. 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


49 


We do not believe it — it is a mistake; he may have been 
in bad company, that is all. Joe was the property of a 
gentleman on Long Island, and we trusted his exploits 
in the North might vie with his achievements in the 
South. 

“When some proud son of man returns to earth, 
Unknown to glory but upheld by birth, 

The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe. 

And storied .urns record who rests below ; 

When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, 

Not what he was, but what he should have been ; 

But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 

The first to welcome, foremost to defend ; 

Whose heart is still his master’s own. 

Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, 
Unhonored falls.” 

But Joe came to an untimely end; he was found shot 
to death. The following was placed over his grave : 


50 


A TRIP TO CURRITUCK. 


Near this spot 

Are deposited the remains of one 
Who possessed beauty without vanity, 
Strength without insolence, 

Courage without ferocity. 

And all the virtues of man without his vices.’’ 

Bor7i in North Carolina, March, iSy^, 

Died at Jamaica, Long Island, March, i8/6. 




THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


“A jolly place,” said he, “in times of old. 

But something ails it now ; the place is curst.” 

AR up the Potomac, in the shadow of the moun- 
tains. among the hundreds of small islands 
which dot the river in that picturesque region, is one 
which has the reputation of being haunted. It is but 
a few miles above the ferry at the Point of Rocks, and 
is unknown to the thousands of persons who are whirled 
past there every year in the railroad trains. 

This island is about fifty acres in extent, and is bor- 
dered with stately oaks to the very river’s edge — whose 
waters lave their roots ; its margin is paved with pearly 
pebbles, while the drooping branches of the trees, fes- 
tooned with tangled vines of every hue, hang down in 
glorious clusters, toying with the blue stream which 
(50 



52 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


runs beneath. The scenery here is truly enchanting. 
Islands of every size seem floating in a charmed atmos- 
phere; to pass one pleasing spot is but to disclose 
another more beautiful than the last. Some are covered 
with a forest growth ; others cultivated, and waving in 
the summer breeze with yellow ripening grain ; and yet 
others are overgrown with varied shrubs, filled with sing- 
ing birds, and wild flowers breathing perfume. 

I had been fishing — had fished the river from the ferry 
up above and around the island. I was well satisfied 
with the day’s sport, and was sitting in the stern of the 
boat in a sort of day dream. Jasper, my boatman, was 
gently guiding the little vessel to keep it from striking 
the many projecting rocks, as well as to prevent it from 
gliding too rapidly down the current. The river, 
changed to a dark green color, from the reflected 
foliage, ran now deep and sluggish against the huge 
boulders which stand defiantly up : now over shallow 
places, shining with silver sand, fretting itself into white 
foam and flinging up jets of spray as if in anger. 
Waking from my reverie, I said : 

“ Jasper, that is a tranquil-looking island ; to whom 
does it belong ? ” 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


53 


Jasper shook his woolly head as if he were puzzled, 
and with the air of a person about to impart some 
awful secret, replied : 

“ Dat don’t belong to nobody ; dat’s haunted.” 

“ Haunted, Jasper ! that is impossible. There are no 
such things as haunted places.” 

“ Well, massa,” he replied, his faith still unshaken, 
“dat’s what I was tole long, long years ago when I was 
a chile. Ye could hear noises cornin’ fum da like dis- 
tress, and dem sounds war jined wid de talkin’ ob men.” 

“ Very likely, but such sounds came from persons on 
the island, and they were living, just as you and I are.” 

“ Dar war sounds,’^ answered my boatman, “ but da 
warn’t no people on dat islsnd. Dem sounds warn’t ob 
dis world.” 

Such an opinion could not be weakened, for my 
dusky companion had been raised in this local super- 
stition and it was as firmly rooted as was his faith in 
future forgiveness, and so I merely inquired : 

“ Is there a house there, Jasper?” 

“Yes sar,” said he, promptly, “da am a big squar one 
right in de middle ob it.” 


54 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


“ We must go and see what it looks like, and try to 
learn where those sounds came from.” 

S’cuse me, massa, dis chile don’t set he foot on dat 
Ian’, kase ef he do, he neber leabe it agin.” 

“ Then if you are afraid,” said I, tauntingly, ” I will go 
alone ; you wait until I return.” 

“ Massa,” implored the frightened negro, “ don’t go ; 
you neber kum back ; you is lost.” 

“ Take me as near the shore as you dare go, and leave 
me there.” 

“ Good-bye, massa; you is lost foreber.” 

Jasper took up the oar and pushed as near the shore 
as the shallow water would permit ; the keel of the 
boat grated on the sandy shore. I stepped over the side 
pf the boat and waded close up under the overhanging 
branches, and forced my way through the dense growth 
which shut this mysterious place from human sight. 
My black friend was right ; in the centre of the island 
stood the remains of a large stone mansion, surrounded 
by what had once been a well-kept lawn. The grass 
was growing green and rank, mingled with weeds, and 
both were struggling for the mastery. Broken statues 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 55 

of costly marble and workmanship were lying scattered 
about ; great flower vases, shattered, and green with the 
mould and moss of years, were covered with weak and 
flowerless creepers. 

The house is a two -story one with windows on every 
side, or rather openings which had been windows at 
some former period. The dangling remains of a heavy 
porch hung over the doorway, ready to fall and crush the 
first careless intruder, while the massive oak doors stood 
wide open as if to invite the victim within. The cornice 
was dropping to pieces, and the woodwork had only the 
appearance of solidity — it needed but the pressure of a 
hand to crumble into dust. The walls were yet perfect, 
for they had been built of irregular sized stones, laid up 
in cement, and so had outlasted the more perishable parts 
of this costly structure. Inside the great doors was a 
wide hall of about twenty feet, and its floors of hard wood 
had stood the test of time remarkably. On one side of 
the hall was a room the whole depth of the house ; the 
ceiling was lofty, but the plaster had long since fallen 
and become mere powder. It was empty ; patches of 
mould had fastened upon the walls, and a damp decay- 


56 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


ing odor pervaded the air ; insects and loathsome rep- 
tiles crept over the floor. On the opposite side of the 
hall were two apartments, but not enough of either re- 
mained to divine what had been their uses. In a small 
back room there yet was to be seen a great open fire- 
place capacious enough to roll in a good-sized tree; a 
swinging crane was bolted to the corner of the chimney, 
supporting hanging hooks, blackened by soot; it had 
doubtless been the kitchen. Having fully explored the 
lower part, I proceeded to the upper story. As I 
mounted the stairs, they groaned under the unusual 
weight, but were still strong enough to enable me to 
complete the task I had undertaken. The upper floor 
was divided into four large chambers. Three of them 
were given up to decay, and desolation peered from every 
corner and crevice. Bats had made their nests in and 
about the broken places, and hung in bunches from the 
ceiling ; the twitter of the young swallows could be heard 
plainly from the chimneys. I passed on to the fourth 
room ; that was not vacant. Although the sash had long 
since dropped in pieces, and fragments of glass yet lit- 
tered the floor, this chamber was occupied ; not indeed 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


57 


b}^ any living thing, but by the inanimate remains of a 
once proudly furnished mansion, and also by yet one other 
object, which though not living had the power of move- 
ment In one corner stood an old fashioned high-post 
bedstead, of the finest curled maple, curiously carved 
and ornamented. A sort of frame held the tops of the 
posts together, from which still hung threads of costly 
curtains intertwined with cobwebs, and stained with dust 
and damp atmosphere. There were no chairs, no tables, 
but in another corner of the apartment stood an antique 
writing-desk, with metal handles to the drawers, and 
brass feet fashioned after the claws of the lion, older 
than the bedstead which occupied the other corner. Its 
polish and usefulness had passed away with the grand- 
eur of this silent habitation. Between two of the win- 
dows was a space of six feet in width, reaching from the 
floor to the cornice. This was all occupied by a life- 
size portrait of a female, which looked as fresh and fair 
as the day it left the hands of the artist. All else about 
this solemn place was weird and death-like ; there she 
stood in her loveliness, as if just attired for some merry- 
making ; her rosy lips seemed ready to break out into 


58 THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 

song and laughter and shout, to startle this ghostly 
scene. 

“What could this mean?” I asked myself. “ Why had 
all the work of man perished, crumbled into dust, and 
this lovely image not suffered the inevitable decay ? 
Who was she, that she could stand here untouched amid 
this ruin — defying time ? Was it the semblance of the 
mistress of this once rich abode ? Had she loved with 
more ardor than reason ? was she waiting for some one 
to enter this doomed edifice that she might tell her story 
and fulfill her destiny ?“ I asked myself all these ques- 
tions over again, as I stood spell-bound, gazing at this 
beautiful vision. She was symmetry itself; her hair was 
golden-hued, and flowed in sunny profusion down over 
her beauteous neck and shoulders; the painter’s art had 
not exaggerated her natural grace and dignity — she was 
beauty unadorned. The dress was of white satin, with 
the puffed sleeves and short waist of the last century. 
A broad pink sash, fastened in front at the waist, 
reached down to a pair of tiny feet, clothed in rich 
embroidered slippers, I felt as if I was in the presence 
of a living human being, and that she might at any mo- 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


59 


ment chide me for breaking the silence of this desolate 
place — for disturbing its quiet. 

With that feeling of superstition which runneth in the 
blood of man, I shuddered, grew weak and faint ; great 
drops of cold perspiration started out from my forehead, 
and I turned to see if some supernatural mechanism had 
not closed the door and entombed me with the lovely 
phantom. It was still open ; its rust-eaten hinges had 
long since ceased to act. I was free to go, but, seized 
with the infatuation of curiosity, I could not move; I 
stood in my tracks and ventured to look again. 

A sound of rustling drapery startled me. Great 
heavens ! this image, which seemed a moment before but 
a part of the solid wall, had moved and stood in the 
centre of the room. Slowly she raised her right arm, 
and with extended finger pointed to the old and faded 
escritoire. Mechanically my eyes took the direction to- 
ward which she pointed. I saw the doors of the cabinet 
tumble from their fastenings and fall to the floor with a 
startling crash, while her attitude commanded me, im- 
peratively, to examine the recesses of this sepulchre of 
a long buried secret. I did so. In it was nothing 


6o 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


except a small time-stained memorandum-book, the 
edges fastened by a silver clasp. I took it up. It con- 
tained the following strange story of the Haunted Island. 
Here it is : 

“ Married. — On the 27ih of May, 1794, at Rock Creek church, 
in the territory of Columbia, by the Rev. Mr. Rolf, John Othard 
to Marie Othard. 

“John Othard and myself were cousins; we had been 
brought up beneath the same roof, and been schoolmates 
and constant companions from childhood. He was my 
boyish lover and protector. He had grown to man- 
hood, I was a few years younger, and we had vowed 
eternal ccnstancy to each other. When, however, too late, 
our parents discovered our fondness for each other, and 
knewthat we were betrothed, they interposed objections; 
and after exhausting all mild means, they threatened us 
with their displeasure, said they would disown and disin- 
herit us ; that if we persevered, we must be outcasts and 
wanderers — go out from under the paternal roof forever ; 
that the union would be unlawful and wicked. The tie 
of blood, they said, was too close, and could be fruitful 
only of misery and ruin — an unhappy, sinful match. 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


6r 


We had been walking, John and I, and talking as usual 
over our doleful fate and prospects, and what seemed to 
us the absurd notions of our parents. He had been try- 
ing to persuade me to disregard what he termed the 
obstinacy of the old folks, and said impatiently: 

“‘Come, Marie, when will you consent to be mine? 
We are old enough to judge of our own affairs. If our 
families are determined on driving us out with scorn, 
let us be equally so to convince them how very harm- 
lessly it will fall. I can support you ; they may keep 
their money, and bestow their curses.’ 

No, not yet, John; let this cloud which now hangs 
over us pass away first ; it may, ere long, be dispelled 
They may relent, and then, how very happy. we shall be 
to know that we did not court the anger of our relatives 
Let us not act hastily.’ 

“ ‘Ah ! my dear Marie, women do not understand these 
matters quite as well as men. I really think you share 
their idle superstitions. Do you not?’ 

“‘You may call them superstitions if you will, but my 
sense of propriety tells me that we should wait. We 
could not be happy with their malediction pending over 
us.^ 


62 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


“*That is prattle. Nothwithstanding these fears, we 
may be as prosperous and happy as though we had 
come from the opposite sides of the earth, and if you 
consent, they will be compelled to acknowledge it. 

Our marriage, when solemnized by the proper authori- 
ties, will be as far above their idle prejudices as the 
heavens are above us all.’ 

“ ‘ Still, John, we must wait’ 

“‘Yes, and wait. Who ever taught us, until it was 
too late, that we were growing up in sin — if it is sin ? 

Why did they permit the seed of our childish friend- 
ship to ripen into the full flower of love, and then blast 
it with the frost of parental authority?’ 

“‘Dear John, do not lose your temper. I think you 
are right in that, but let us be brave, and not set aside, 
too lightly, our duty to those whose only solicitude can 
be that we do no wrong.’ 

“ ‘ I was a little impatient, to be sure. I will respect 
your wish, Marie. I will wait, but it must not be here. 

I will go out into the busy world for a year or two, and 
then return to claim you. If I do not come back to you 
rich, I will at least have enough to give us a good 
start in the world.’ 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


63 


John/ I said, placing my hand in his, ‘ I shall miss 
you very much, and be very lonely. Be careful, John, 
that you do not bring with you a wife, to give us a prac- 
tical demonstration that your love was a mere fancy.’ 

Not I, dearest; I will remain as true to you, through 
every vicissitude, as I now think you to be true. 

But you, who knows but I may live to find that you 
have obviated the trouble by marrying a man who is not 
your cousin, just to make the theory of certain persons 
good ? ’ 

Trust me ; I am worthy of your love ; and now, 
good bye. God bless and care for you.’ 

‘“May He bless and protect you, Marie.’ 

He went off that same day. For the first few months 
his letters to me were frequent, and always filled with 
sentiments of love and constancy. Then the intervals 
became longer, and longer, then ceased altogether. ‘He 
is in a large city, I thought, and in the whirl of excite- 
ment, he has already forgotten me ; some other, perhaps, 
has taken my place ; his heart has another idol. No, I 
reasoned with myself ; that cannot be, he has become 
very poor and has married for money, thinking I would 
never relent’ 


6^ 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


Months passed rapidly away, faded into years, and 
yet no tidings came. This silence and uncertainty were 
wearing tear channels down my cheeks. I waited 
on ; and though pained and sickened, like a true woman 
I never allowed my tongue to disclose the anguish I 
suffered. The wolf was gnawing at my heart; if the 
lines I felt growing more marked on my features did not 
tell the story, it was my secret, and I kept it. 

One morning, after an absence of three years, John 
suddenly made his appearance — without a note of warn- 
ing. He seemed somewhat older, and his face had lost 
that impetuous look of boyhood. But he was handsome 
ever, and just the same loving fellow. 

“‘lam so rejoiced to be at home again. I have 
been thinking of you constantly, Marie.’ 

Why, then, have you been absent so long, and why 
for two years have you not written to me — not even a 
line?’ 

“‘1 have been fighting in a great, crowded city for a 
competency. The battle was fierce and long; sometimes 
I was lost in the busy, swaying multitude ; but I have 
gained it, and I am here to know if you will go and 
share it with me.” 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


65 


“‘Yes, I am ready and willing to go, though lam 
sure we shall be driven out and away from the family 
fold ; be branded as wantons, outcasts, by all we love 
most dear.’ 

“‘Leave your fears outside the church door, my dar- 
ling, for we can defy them so far as money is the ques- 
tion. I have enough. We will build ourselves a home 
in some retired spot, and be so happy that they will 
seek us, and be ashamed of their conduct when they see 
how they have erred.’ 

“ I could not resist such persuasion from the only man 
I had ever loved. I consented at once, and the next 
day we were married. In accord with my own de- 
sire, we bought this embowered island, and built this 
spacious home. It had everything in and about it that 
taste could fancy and wealth purchase. It was quite a 
heaven for me. We were so happy, and he never left 
me. We sat beneath the grand old trees and talked of 
our future prospects, read our favorite books, and I 
loved those best which we had read together. It 
seemed too much happiness to last long; sometimes I 
felt as if the shadow of sorrow was threatening our 


X 65 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


home. Yet all was serene, and I dismissed my fears. It 
had not yet come ; but it was coming though, as slowly 
yet as surely as the distant muttering of thunder portends 
the approaching storm. An indefinable dread of some- 
thing impending clung to me. I could not rid myself of 
it. My husband now commenced absenting himself 
from home. He had business in this city, and then in 
that one ; his journeys became more frequent and of 
longer duration. After one of these visits he returned 
wearied and not at all like himself ; care was on his 
brow, and his manner betokened some great grief. I 
said : 

“‘John, dear, it is two weeks since you left me, and 
you promised to return the same day. What is the 
matter? are you in trouble? You must be, for your face 
has that pinched look which nothing but extreme 
anxiety can produce. Confide in me.’ 

“‘Nothing very serious, my dear child,’ he replied, ‘ it 
will soon be over; only a temporary embarrassment; 
some unlucky speculations.’ Then he gave me a kiss, 
smiled as he used to do, and said I was a baby. 

“ ‘Ah, John, your words buoy me up and make me 
feel almost happy again.’ 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


67 


“ ‘ Let us speak of it no more, and when I have my 
business all in shape again, I will never leave you, but 
remain here, where, if you cannot see me every moment, 
you can hear me.’ 

“‘Oh, that will be such joy for me. But do you 
know, John, that while I have waited, and waited, to 
hear the splash of the oars as you crossed from the 
shore, I have conjured up all sorts of things? Some- 
times I have thought that perhaps — ’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps what ? ’ 

“‘That the chains of Cupid had been woven around 
you during your fir.«t absence, and that you might have 
returned to her who ’ 

“ ‘ Just what a foolish woman always supposes. Why 
I have been as true to you as the waters of the glori- 
ous river, which sweeps past our island home, have 
been constant in their tendency toward the sea.’ 

“ ‘ I believe it, and now you will pardon me, will you, 
not?’ 

“ ‘ Of course I do,’ he continued; ‘and, had I been as 
faithful to myself as I have been loyal to you, I would 
not now be suffering the woe you have so plainly seen 
on my face.’ 


68 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


“‘Tell me, dear, for I can guide you out of it — I know 
I can.’ 

“ ‘ No, not now,’ he answered ; then he kissed me and 
walked away. 

“Something terrible was coming — I knew it. The 
curses which had been heaped upon us for disobedience 
were about to bear fruit. Now, strange, rough-looking 
men came to see my husband — persons whom I had not 
seen before. They seemed familiar with him; it was 
evident, however, that their presence was distasteful to 
him ; he tried to keep them at a distance, hje shrank 
from them. I said I did not like these acquaintances ; he 
replied that they were commercial friends, and must be 
treated with respect. They had long and mysterious 
conversations together. They would go to the other shore 
and return, bringing other companions equally ill-looking. 

One dark^ night the dip of oars was heard, and as the 
boat was run upon the pebbly shore, four men stepped 
briskly out, and laboriously lifted and carried a large, 
heavy, oblong box, and placed it in the cellar. John 
said it was merchandise, and must be stored ; it was un- 
salable now, and it was best to keep it until there was 
a market for it. 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


69 


‘“But, John, why can.it not be stored in the city, 
where it would be at hand when the demand arises for 
it, and why do these uncouth-looking men bring it at the 
dead of night ? It would have been easier, and certainly 
more pleasant, to have brought it in the daylight’ 

“ ‘ My dear little sweetheart,’ he turned and said 
abruptly, ‘women know nothing of business matters, 
and you would not understand me if I explained it all.’ 

“‘You are deceiving me; for it does not require a 
business education to enable one to guess that there 
might be something wrong about a midnight transaction 
such as this.’ 

“He deigned no explanation, but answered half 
kindly, half sarcastically, ‘Good night; ask no more of 
your puzzling questions. Take this kiss ; you are a little 
nervous and disturbed in temper, you need rest — go to 
bed.’ 

“ He dismissed me with another kiss, as he had often 
done before. It was the first to have a tinge of bitter- 
ness to it. I was far from satisfied. What could this 
occupation be, that required him to remain away so long 
and gather about him such associates ? He had been 


70 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


gone a whole month. Oh, .what a weary, unhappy, 
dreary month that was for me! — I thought it would never 
end. Why could not the fates let loose their wrath all 
at once ? Why was not all revealed ? I wept myself 
asleep, and was frightened into wakefulness by some 
horrid dream. I took up the newspaper and tried to 
read it ; the letters all ran together. It was the Alexan- 
dria Times and Advertiser, of May, 1798. Instinctively 
my eyes caught the following notice : 

“ Counterfeit Dollars. The public are requested to be on their 
guard with respect to a number of counterfeit dollars of the 
United States, now passing in this city. They are made or 
block-tin and pewter, and, if not quite new, may be detected on 
sight. They are well cast, and, therefore, the impression is ex- 
act ; but the milling around the edge is nothing like the true dol- 
lar, thereby may be easily known. They are about four penny- 
weights too light.” 

“ The paper fell from my hands. Why I could 
not tell, and yet the reading of that paragraph 
seemed connected with my life. Had that box 
merchandise in it ? Had my husband become one 
of a gang of base money coiners ? He could not have 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


71 


fallen so low ; he was too good and too honest. That 
mysterious box was always present, turn which way I 
would. I felt impelled to go to the cellar and examine 
it. There could be no harm in merely looking; it 
would ease my troubled brain. I took the lantern 
and stealthily groped my way down into the damp 
earthy atmosphere. It was silent as death there; the 
dim light revealed nothing but the box. I held the lan- 
tern up over it, and the uncertain flickering of its rays 
fell upon the lid. There was no denying the ownership, 
it was marked in large bold letters, ‘ John Othard.’ 
Now, I must know what it contained ; I could wait no 
longer ; a sort of determined malice took possession of 
me to connect it with the newspaper, and with my hus- 
band — fiendish thought. I did not desire to prove him 
other than the pure and noble man I had loved ; but I 
was not myself — I would do it just to still my excited 
suspicions. Putting the lamp down over the name, as if 
that could blot it out, I went up the creaking steps, and 
hastened back with the axe firmly clenched in both 
hands, as if I feared a rescue. Placing the light on the 
earth floor, I hesitated whether to strike or not — the 


72 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


blow was to reveal joy or eternal misery to me. To 
leave the fatal box to itself, and go to my chamber, was 
to be racked with horrible doubts. I seized again the 
axe, and with repeated blows splintered the cover ; then, 
with bleeding hands I ripped it off and hurled it from 
me. Yes, there, wrapped in rolls, shining with damnable 
brilliancy, was my husband’s secret. I was first stunned 
then frantic ; cursed myself and him ; wished I had been 
unable to read ; that I had been blind, dead, rather than 
find him whom I had enshrined in my heart of hearts as 
a god, so unworthy. He would go to a felon’s cell — 
perhaps to an ignominious death — and me, where could 
I go ? I left the dreadful thing uncovered ; as I backed 
away from it toward the stairway, those glittering wit, 
nesses grinned at me. I walked the floor all night — I 
could not rest. The angel of sleep had fled, frightened 
at the discord in my frame, and the angel of death was 
spreading his baneful wings over me. 

“ Dawn surprised with its unwelcome light, and found 
me a shivering, crouching wretch. That incestuous love 
with which we had defied the fates, had now borne its 
full fruit. 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


/3 


“About mid-day' John came home. Despair had 
cooled me. I handed him the paper and pointed to the 
notice. I watched his eager face while he read it. He 
flushed and paled, and raising his eyes to meet mine, 
asked if I knew all. 

“ ‘Yes, I do know all. The box contains base coin. I 
have seen them. They are there, and will consign you to 
a prison and me to my grave ; that is, if there lives one 
single, pitying human being, who will take the trouble 
to heap the sod over a friendless, homeless wretch, as I 
now am.’ 

“‘Calm yourself, darling; they cannot connect me 
with it. I will bury it. But few persons know of it, 
and they dare not tell.’ 

“ He went to the cellar. I could hear him working 
away and talking excitedly to himself I approached 
the steps and listened. He had ceased for a moment, I 
could hear his heavy breathing. I stepped down a few 
steps ; he turned toward me, coat off ; his face grimed 
with perspiration and dirt, he glared upon me. ‘ Aha, 
you come too late ; I have concealed it, I am not the 
owner of it ; you cannot prove me guilty.’ His mind 


74 


THE HAUNTED ISLAND. 


was wandering ; he imagined the officers were come to 
take him. I moved toward him ; a pistol shot, a heavy 
fall, and he had escaped — so far as human penalty was 
concerned. Here I was, alone, on this accursed island ; 
even the servants had fled in terror, and left me with the 
dead body of my husband. His blood ran from the 
wound, and formed in little pools, which the thirsty 
black earth drank, and left no stain. Now was I strong 
with frenzy; the method of madness was on me; I 
seized the tools, which the suicide had left, and com- 
menced to dig what must now be a grave — wider, and 
deeper, and longer I dug it ; then settled the body into 
it ; and covering it up, heaped and rounded it. I did 
not mind the work; it was excitement and kept me from 
dying. I went out into the open air — it was not yet 
light — the peaceful heavens gave no sign of wrath, and 
the bright twinkling stars looked down upon this scene 
of crime, and madness, and suicide, as serenely as they 
had before the island was changed from a domestic para- 
dise to a pandemonium. I hear him calling, as if from 
the river ; it is a stifled cry for assistance. I must go to 
him. I can save him, and I — ” 


THE HAUNTED IST.AND. 


75 


The newspaper of that period contained the follow- 
ing: 

" The body of a female was found floating in the river at the 
Great Falls of the Potomac — Unknown.” 


THE 


FAIRIES OF 

WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 


A LEGEND OF BERKELEY SPRINGS. 


one who has not lived 
in a mountain country the 
abounding beauty of those se- 
questered regions is unknown 
The mountains, blue, dim, and 
mysterious, with range backing 
range, and pillaring the heavens, 
lift their mist-enveloped peaks 
far above this breathing, think- 
ing world. There the wild deer roams 
in solitude and security, and there the 
daring of man has never penetrated. Grim 
old sentinels, clothed with verdure to their very summits, 

(76) 



THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 


77 


frown down upon coeval valleys which they protect, and 
through which they send their bower-born springs with 
gurgling music to the smiling plains, and onward, broad- 
ening into majestic rivers. The valleys, as if conscious 
of and grateful for the protection, run up to meet and 
embrace their gigantic guardians, with offerings of wild 
flowers and many-hued foliage. Afar off a human hab- 
itation clings to the side of the steep mount, surrounded 
by fields of emerald hue; a homestead, hewn from the 
primeval forest. 

Leafless trees, blasted and riven by the angry ele- 
ments, stretch their scathed limbs for mercy, while their 
earthless roots writhe like knotted reptiles and twist 
into hideous shapes. Roads, toiling lazily over steeps, 
gray, rugged, and rutty, lead away to unknown regions. 
A bald spot — rock — whose face has borne the violence 
of the storm for ages, yet defiantly stands there, inviting 
the fury of its ancient enemy. The clouds, broken into 
fantastic forms, cast gossamer shadows, which go floating 
phantom-like, away, as unreal as spirits and as tranquil as 
the promised land. Jutting crags, piled up in grotesque 
confusion, capped by monstrous rocky platforms, over- 


78 THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 

hang the leafy depths. The rail track, like a glistening 
serpent, winds its way along the narrow shore, and over 
bridges light and fanciful, mere webs, spun by human 
spiders, spanning streams which foam their anger 
through narrow passes. Beneath, in a distant valley, 
the river, like a shining thread, flows on through tangled 
thickets, past populous towns and lowly huts. 

But these mountain solitudes were not always so 
lonely. Ages gone by, when the world first began, they 
were peopled by a race of fairies. These little creatures 
lived and reveled in these grand old forests, and made 
them joyous with their merry shouts and sports. They 
knew no care, and nightly gathered beneath the spread- 
ing branches, sporting until the gray of morning drove 
them to their hiding places. They wantoned in the 
cool streams and swung in the pendant flowering vines, 
while the moon sent her silvery light down through the 
trembling leaves to light them on their way. The day- 
light was hateful to them, and all day long they passed 
the time in secret bowers and mossy recesses, away 
from the light, and only left them when the starry 
heavens bade them forth again to their nightly revels. 


THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 


79 


Thus, these happy little people lived, and far and near 
through all the woods, yielded willing allegiance to a 
queen, majestic, lovely, and beloved by her tribes. Her 
sway was mild, for mutual kindness was the bond be- 
tween them. But for a long time her sorrowing fol- 
lowers had noticed that her sweet face wore a troubled 
look; that she had not as usual joined in their pleas- 
ures, nor even approved of them. They felt that some 
dreadful secret filled her heart and clouded her brow, yet 
what it was none dared to ask, and she herself remained 
silent. They would willingly have died to free her from 
this sorrow, but they knew not what to do. They sur- 
rounded her and said: 

“Beloved sovereign, may we not share thy grief?” 

“ It may be, soon,” she replied. 

“ Have we caused you pain ? Have we not been 
dutiful ?” 

“ My sorrow, dear people, is not of your creation ; 
you have ever been loving, faithful subjects.” 

“What, then, can We do to show our devotion to 
you ?” 

“Our season of enjoyment, my subjects, is almost gone. 


8o 


THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 


and soon we must hide ourselves to escape the cold. 
When the spring returns again you shall learn it all; 
until then seek to know no more.” 

The winter was dead and passed away, and the genial 
breath of spring wafted silently over his grave, evoking 
glowing treasures from the ruin he had left. The earth, 
alive again, put forth its most beautiful creations, and 
tempted once more the fairies of 
the mountains to appear. The 
queen, true to her promise, sent 
swift messengers to her remotest 
people; she summoned them all 
to her presence. They came in 
troops, and filled the mountain 
tops and sides, and reached down 
into the valleys. She welcomed 
them as they approached her. In 
majesty she was seated upon a 
summer throne. It was formed of the finest 
woods of the forest, and quaintly fashioned 
by the little work-people. It was cushioned with the 
most delicate mosses, and wild vines had been trained 



THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 


8l 


up and over and around it, blending charmingly with 
the rustic wood-work. Above her tiny head spread a 
canopy of delicate twigs, twisted into fantastic shapes by 
skillful hands, and roofed with the glittering wings of 
the rarest insects, overlapped with such exactness that 
not even a drop of dew could penetrate. It was right 
royal, and she was worthy of it. Near the queen’s pa- 
vilion were ranged the principal leaders of the^ various 
tribes, together with her most favored adviser^ 

Her eyes, sad and mournful, wandered over this vast 
assemblage of devoted friends. 

“ My people,” she commenced, “as I promised, I have 
called you from your sylvan abodes to impart what I 
have too long concealed. It has been known to myself 
alone that the period for our allotted stay upon earth 
has almost expired. In a short time we must go, for- 
ever, from these scenes of pleasure — from these woody 
retreats where we have known so many joys. Our 
places will soon be taken by the sons of men. It is our 
fate that when they come we must disappear. Through 
all our lives we have done nothing but waste our time 
in pursuit of mere pleasure, hastening the time of our 


82 THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 

banishment and doing good to no one. Like the bees, 
fluttering from flower to flower, we will have sipped the 
sweets of life and left no mark that we ever existed. It 
is my wish ere we go, that we do something by which 
we may be remembered. 

“ Let us bestow upon mankind a gift so great that it 
shall last them forever, and which they may enjoy and 
bless us for to the end of time. Such a gift is within 
our reach, but we have never sought it for ourselves.” 

With one voice they said — 

“What shall it be? The will of our queen is our 
pleasure.” 

“I was sure of it,” she said. “Now listen: It is 
known to us all that within this very mountain the 
purest waters are imprisoned. But we can release them ; 
these crystal streams must be set free from their subter- 
ranean channels and brought sparkling to the surface.” 

They all bowed obedience, and asked when this great 
task should be commenced. 

“ Let the preparation for this arduous undertaking go 
forward,” she said, “ now while the summer is with us. 

Waste not the time ; let our whole people be employed 


THE FAIRIES OF WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 83 

in making instruments suitable for breaking the crust 
which confines the treasure we 
are going to bring forth for the 
benefit of mankind. We must 
hasten to our work and be dili- 
gent. I dismiss you, but as- 
semble again when next the 
dreary winter is past and the 
genial sun warms the buds into 
leaflets — when the upland rills have found their voices 
once more, and come leaping from their hidden birth- 
places.” 

The gentle summer had passed, the winter had again 
come and gone, and the troops were gathering in re- 
sponse to the command of their mistress. They had 
been industrious. Each came armed with a stout staff, 
made from the toughest wood and shod with the hardest 
flint. In myriads they arrived — whole armies of them — 
and eagerly awaited the command to go forward. They 
moved in column, headed by captains, down the steep 
declivities. They toiled with a will. Many died of 
fatigue, but their places were soon filled by other eager 



84 the fairies of warm spring mountain. 


workers. At length their toil was rewarded, and the 
bright and beautiful waters gushed forth in great 
fountains. 

The fairies have long since disappeared, but the 
waters still flow and fill the little valley with sweet, 
health-giving streams. 








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